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As all the fiends from heaven that fell
“Bearing before them, in their course,
11 A circle of hunters surrounding game.
“Now westward rolls the battle's din,
“Viewing the mountain's ridge askance,
My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, is
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 590
And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington And lord of Langley-dale; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen’’— But aye she loot the tears down fa’ For Jock of Hazeldean. 16 “A chain of gold ye sall not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair; Nor mettled hound, nor managedi hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair; And you, the foremost o' them a”, Shall ride our forest queen.”— But aye she loot the tears down fa’ For Jock of Hazeldean. 24 The kirk was decked at morning-tide, The tapers glimmered fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha’; The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border and awa” Wi’ Jock of Hazeldean. 32
13 gold ons (stamped with the king's head) in
plenty. 14 Who Will 15 Highlander 16 Widow of the Duncan mourned for in the Coronach on H. 444. 17 Douglas, an exile, to whom Roderick Dhu had given shelter.
2 brave, fine
* John Graham of Claverhouse, Wiscount Dundee,
3 reversing the chimes
12 hoods made at Kil-
4 Mayor for the wearers,
street 14 blind alleys
10 gracious and sly
11 The place of execu- 16 nickname of a can-
HERE'S A HEALTH TO KING CHARLES FROM WOODSTOCK
Bring the bowl which you boast, Fill it up to the brim; 19 gentlemen of minor
'Tis to him we love most,
Brave gallants, stand up,
Were there death in the cup,
Though he wanders through dangers,
Let such honours abound
LORD BYRON (1788-1824)
FROM ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS*
When Vice triumphant holds her sov’reign sway, Obeyed by all who nought beside obey; When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime, Bedecks her cap with bells of every Clime; When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail, 30 And weigh their Justice in a Golden Scale; E’en then the boldest start from public sneers, Afraid of Shame, unknown to other fears, More darkly sin, by Satire kept in awe, And shrink from Ridicule, though not from Law.
Such is the force of Wit! but not belong To me the arrows of satiric song; The royal vices of our age demand A keener weapon, and a mightier hand .
Still there are follies, e'en for me to chase, 40
degree 20 tanned
18 A royalist executed in 1650.
* This satire is in part a retort which Byron was stung into making by the ridicule with which the Edinburgh Review in January, 1808, received his youthful volume of verses, Hours of Idleness; though he had before planned a satirical poem upon contemporary English foot, In later years he regretted his severty, and especially his treatment of Francis Jeffrey, the editor of the journal. whom he had wrongly suspected of writing the offending
article. ee Eng. Lit., p. 246.
And yield at least amusement in the race:
While such are Critics, why should I forbear?
Behold! in various throngs the scribbling crew, For notice eager, pass in long review: Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace, And Rhyme and Blank maintain an equal race; Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode; And Tales of Terrors jostle on the road; | Immeasurable measures move along; * For simpering Folly loves a varied song, 150 To strange, mysterious Dulness still the friend, Admires the strain she cannot comprehend. Thus Lays of Minstrels—may they be the last!— On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast, While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, That dames may listen to the sound at nights; And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner's brood,8 Decoy young Border-nobles through the wood, And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why; 160 While high-born ladies in their magic cell, Forbidding Knights to read who cannot spell, Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave, And fight with honest men to shield a knave.
Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, The golden-crested haughty Marmion, Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, Not quite a Felon, yet but half a Knight, The gibbet or the field prepared to grace— A mighty mixture of the great and base. 170 And think'st thou, Scott! by vain conceit perchance, On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Though Murray with his Millert may combine To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? No! when the sons of song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade; Let such forego the poet’s sacred name, Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame: Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain! And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain! 180 Such be their meed, such still the just reward Of prostituted Muse and hireling bard! For this we spurn Apollo’s venal son,8 And bid a long ‘‘good night to Marmion.”9 6 Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805) #. out of a suggestion for a ballad derived from an absurd old Border legend of Gilpin Horner. 7. Publishers. 8 i. e., this bought Orpheus (Scott) 9 Marmion, line 869.
* This is a sneer at the new anapestic metres. See Eng. Lit., p. 243.
5 By “Monk” Lewis (Eng. Lit., 204).